


In the Arms of an Angel

by 68932



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Cats, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/68932/pseuds/68932
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>cats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Arms of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little weird to see another fic pop up with almost the exact summary as mine. As long as it's more Jeego and Tengo I don't mind though
> 
> also fuck i deleted part of this by accident and had to redo it, sorry if it's shit

Tengo was furious. Thousands of swirling emotions pulsing in his head, the cardboard cat carrier heavy in his hand. The fat cat inside oozed out the holes in the side, golden fur and flesh poking through them. The carrier never even hit the ground. "No." Jeego hadn't even looked up from the flashing TV, clean click-snap of his gun puncting the word. The dirty cloth hit the floor, and long fingers skimmed gentle over the golden body. Somewhere in between the simmering resentment and desire to smack Jeego over the head with that ridiculous shotgun, Tengo thought that it was the only thing Jeego had ever been gentle with. God knows there was no other tenderness in those long fingers and half-closed eyes. 

The drive back to the pet store had been agonizing, fingers skipping over every radio station with rising anger, sharp turns and curses mounting each time he made the round through blathering talk shows and droning traffic reports. The woman at the store had been clearly unhappy, eyes searching him like the reason he was here again could be found somewhere in that expressionless face. His mind ran through explanations. 'Sorry, my significant other said no. My boyfriend is allergic. The man I live with likes guns more than cats.' Like any of those would go over well with her, or him for that manner. He'd grabbed the cash out of her pasty fingers and almost run to the car, leaving the cat fat and meowing on the counter. 

And now, here he was, two weeks later and covered in a fine mist of arterial spray, and he still can't stop thinking about it. He tries to tell himself that it's just his mind bringing up useless, unwanted associations, that the same annoyance he feels now as he fights with a tangle of keys, half for abandoned lots, the others, storage units, is pulling at tangled strings of memory. The door swings open, and the red-printed keys hit the kitchen counter, skittering across the cheap imitation marble. Jeego's flat on the lumpy couch, day-old paper held in front of his face, giving him the look of a bad P.I. Shrugging out of his jacket, he shoots a look at the other man. No response. Not even the decency to look up. "It's not mine," he spits, lips purple, face almost freckled by the light misting of blood. 

There's a noncommittal grunt from Jeego, and the paper rustles, the sound of a page turning, or so Tengo thinks. He doubts the other man is really even reading. Heading to the bathroom, he drops the bloodied clothing as he goes. Ruined white shirt, trim pants that were freshly pressed only this morning, shoes kicked off on the hardwood floor, a relic from the days when this building pulled four digits in rent. The sink runs, high water pressure roaring, and Tengo splashes his face, leaving red trails in the sink. The black towel holds countless unseen stains, and this one too will disappear in the thick black fabric that scrubs the blood from Tengo's chest. He mops up the wet, sticky stain first, ready to run the towel under the sink when he hears something from the kitchen. It's faint and high-pitched, a tiny sound that would go unnoticed if not for his recent ruminations. It sounds almost like a meow, and he's berating himself all the way to the kitchen, in pajama pants and nothing else, for his determination to hallucinate this, like some sort of heartbroken woman seeing her dead husband's ghost, blaming the TV, ready to knock Jeego off that filthy couch for making fun of him.

Jeego's standing at the counter, pouring off-brand cat food into a cereal bowl, tiny kibbles shaped like circles and hearts bouncing off the porcelain, a skinny kitten at his feet.

What Tengo doesn't know is that she sat outside and cried for hours on their chipped concrete steps, the high-pitched sound slipping through the unsealed windows with the cold, winter wind. Jeego had gone down to shut her up, only to find not a mangy, rough alley cat, but a tiny tortoiseshell kitten, with glowing green eyes and giant ears like some sort of alien creature. She'd fixed him with her searchlight eyes, and he was sold. He'd assumed she couldn't climb the stairs, but she jumped them with the sort of grace that only cats have, slipping inside before the door closed. He scooped her up before getting on the elevator (a rusty, slow contraption, he'd learned,) and brought her back to their apartment.  

Jeego glances at him before setting the bowl on the ground. "She was outside. I'm not heartless, you know." He heads back to the couch, flopping down with the newspaper. "Haven't you seen those commercials? You're not supposed to buy pets." 

Tengo's ready to put his fist through the wall, but the rhythmic crunch of the cat food is too distracting, and when the tiny kitten leaves the first food she's probably seen in days to rub against the leg of his pajama bottoms with high-pitched meow, he can't do anything but kneel down and stroke her soft head, oversized ears rubbing against the pads of his fingers, and fragile body small enough to fit in his hand. She's just so little, too delicate for this house, eating out of a bowl big enough for three of her that's more often than not been filled with cold tv dinners and held in shaking hands, two words away from smashing on a water-stained wall. 

When she settles in between them that night, Jeego plucks her from the cavernous, suffocating space, instead placing her on the pillow next to his head. Tengo's half asleep, not knowing if this is some sort of wistful dream or imagined reality, heavy eyelids dragging shut as Jeego moves to fill the gap between them, long legs tangling with his, dark hair splaying out on the pillow, close enough to tickle Tengo's nose. 


End file.
